


Better Intentions

by Pinkmink



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Coda, Dean Talks About Feelings, Episode: s13e14 Good Intentions, First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-04 09:27:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14017248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pinkmink/pseuds/Pinkmink
Summary: A small scene taking place after Castiel lists off the ingredients needed for the spell. Cas leaves Dean alone - but is that what he really wants?





	Better Intentions

**Author's Note:**

> I need them to talk after all that nonsense. You probably did too. So I wrote it. Because that's what we do in this fandom.

He hasn’t seen that look in a while.

It’s been years, really, since he’d seen that look in Dean’s eyes. It wasn’t anger, it wasn’t heat. It wasn’t even really fear.

It was pain.

And Castiel couldn’t stand to see it.

He’d finished listing off the items with a huff, already starting to make plans on how he’d get to the tree of life. It’s been a millennia since he’d visited that garden, located deep in the outskirts of Syria. Actually, the last time he’d been there was with Gabriel...

Anyway, the brothers were silent, nodding along like they were listening but not processing. Sam’s brow was furrowed, and he tucked some hair behind his ear. He wasn’t hurt - he was angry. He was worried.

He’d get over it. He’s always been more of a soldier than Dean is.

Castiel pinched the bridge of his nose, letting his eyes close on a sigh. When he opened them again, green eyes tore him to shreds.

So he left.

He didn’t go far. As emotionless as he felt right now, he knew leaving would only make things worse. At least, that’s what’s happened 99 times out of 100. Don’t ever let anyone say Castiel isn’t figuring it all out, albeit slowly. He just followed the wide hall to the room the Winchesters let him stay in, and closed the door gently. Locking himself away.

It goes without saying that he felt terrible about Donatello. Of course he did. He ached for the loss of the man - another soul caught in the crosshairs of this endless war they seem to find themselves in.

But there was an evil that had awoken in the man. So potent it practically seeped into Castiel’s pores just by proximity. And he could sense all the evil that was yet to come. Sending Dean to his death? Choking him out for asking the wrong questions? Just the tip of the iceberg. As he’d reached out to touch Donatello’s forehead, to break a cardinal rule he’d set for himself when he’d begun to interact with humanity, he’d seen it all. Spells and blood and Dean and Sam’s fractured and slumping bodies, dead on the concrete floor of the bunker - and Donatello standing over them, a small smile crossing his lips.

There was no redemption in his hollow body. Castiel had taken a moment to mourn for the man’s digested soul, and then did what was necessary.

And he knew, as he heard the shouts of Sam and Dean from the other side of the door, what the consequence would truly be. The happy-go lucky Dean from earlier that day? The one that gently asked him how he was, his exposed heart beating to hear Castiel’s answer. The one that joked and laughed while they fought side by side.

That Dean would be long gone.

He’d be back to the contempt and suspicion that had characterized their relationship for so long. Maybe it was better this way.

He was honestly surprised to hear a soft knock at his door an hour later. There’d been more instances of quiet talks between them the longer they’d known each other - still, the look on Dean’s face earlier was clear as day to Cas. He felt betrayed.

“Hey.” Dean started, gruff. He pushed his way through the door and closed it behind him. His fists were at his sides and pumped restlessly, like they needed something to hit. Cas wasn’t in the mood for a fight, verbal or otherwise.

“I won’t apologize for what I did.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “Of course you won’t.”

Castiel hadn’t taken off his trenchcoat when he’d entered his room earlier but he did so now, draping it across the back seat of his office chair. “Then why are you here?”

Dean hadn’t really moved from just beyond the doorway, and he leaned back, actively spreading his fingers and resting them against the cold of the wooden door. He’s trying to calm himself down. “I wish I had a damn clue.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “This is going to go well.”

“Well, what do you want me to say Cas? That I’m happy with what you did?” Dean’s fists were clenched agian, and the left slammed against the door, the sound echoing in the empty space. “Dammit, you killed him. You murdered him, for God sake. That’s not what we do!”

“We kill monsters all the time. Trust me, Donatello was a monster.” Castiel rested his hand on top of his coat. “You didn’t see - inside of his head. He wasn’t going to stop. It wasn’t even Donatello anymore.”

“Then we would have found a better way, we always find a better way-”

“Do we? Do we really, Dean? Or do we just find another way that gets one of us killed?” His grip tightened on his coat, the canvas soft beneath his fingertips. “We needed the spell to get back Mary and Jack. I got it for us. The blood is on my hands - not yours.”

“Yeah, because cosmic consequences have never bit  _ you _ in the ass either-”

“I told you earlier, I have to be back for a  _ reason _ -”

“What if that reason is to just enjoy life?” Dean barked, his eyes hard. Castiel gulped involuntarily. “What if it’s to help us save the damn world again, but not at the expense of your- your-”

“My what?!” Castiel bellowed.

“Your God-damned humanity!” Dean was huffing, a flush rose up his throat. It made his freckles disappear, the boyish glow fade. “You’re an angel for fuck’s sake! Not our attack dog!”

“What I am Dean, is a soldier. That’s what I’ve been for a millennia, long before I met you or Sam.” Castiel turned away, casting his eyes towards his bed. It was covered with a thin layer of dust. “And soldiers do what they must, in a war.”

He hated the way he sounded like John. He knew how it rang in Dean’s ears, how the keywords would act as a switch to Dean, into a harder man than he likes to be. He couldn’t meet his eyes as he did it, to watch the fire fade to steel.

Except there was no snarky retort from Dean. No quick dash out the door with a loud slam that would reverberate down to Castiel’s bones. There was only a small, defeated sigh and then Dean was closer, just a foot away now, and talking gently.

“At some point man, you’re gonna wake up and realize you’ve ruined yourself with all this. And you’re gonna hate it. Hate us. Hate - me.”

“Dean,” Castiel started, but the rest of the words died on his lips. Dean’s arm was in his periphery, and he was afraid to look up.

“No - no, you listen. For once.” Dean’s hand clasped Castiel’s bicep and it grounded him to the spot. “Sam and I - I know where we’re gonna end up after all this. Our vacation home’s already booked, just ain’t quite sure yet when we’ll get there. But you - you’re still an angel. Cas, you’ll go on long after us, and this shit will follow you.”

Castiel huffed a humorless laugh. “I seem to remember having a similar conversation with you when you had the mark.” He followed the path of Dean’s body from his dark boots to soft flannel to finally the bright green of his eyes. They were smiling more than his lips.

“Yeah, and you were right to worry about me then. Sorry I never said.”

Castiel couldn’t help raising an eyebrow. “For the record, you rarely admit I’m right.”

“For the record, you rarely are.”

Dean’s hand clenched around his bicep, then rubbed a little back and forth. “Look I’m not saying - I’m not saying you didn’t do right tonight. It was an impossible situation and you saved Sam and I from doing it ourselves.” Dean’s expression turned serious again. “But dude, you just decided to take it on yourself. That’s not okay. You’re better than that.”

“No, I’m not.” Castiel answered, placing his hand on top of Dean’s on his shoulder. Dean didn’t even flinch. “But that’s good of you to say.”

“You’re an angel, Cas. You were created by God. Of course you are.” Dean shook his head. “You’re a lot of things, man. Stubborn as a damn mule for sure. But a mindless soldier, you ain’t. You haven’t been that in a long time. So do us both a favor and stop pretending that’s what this is.”

“So what is this then?”

Castiel had always liked looking at Dean in moments like this. Selfishly, he wished he could take a picture to keep and stare at on long, lonely nights. It wasn’t that Dean was happy or smiley or bright, it was that he was so open to Castiel. Vulnerable. The longer they knew each other, the closer they’d grown, the more this face would pop up on a rare instance. It made him want to smile and panic all at the same time.

“This is me,” Dean started, a calm washing over his face. “Asking you - no - begging you to share the load. I’m sick of worrying about you or Sam and losing what little sanity we have left. We do this together, or not at all.”

Castiel held his gaze a moment longer. “And when there are nights like tonight? Monsters like Donatello? What then?”

“Then we take turns.” Dean’s soft smile made Castiel want to give in. But he felt such a tremendous need to push Dean away in this moment for his own fucking good. After all the man had gone through, everything he’d given up and lost - Castiel would never stop trying to save him, to spare him. From anything and everything that would bring him harm.

But maybe that’s not what was important about Dean coming in to talk to him, about Dean still standing here right in front of him. Asking him to never put himself in harm's way over Dean and Sam was about as foolish as asking either of the other two men to do the same. At this point, they know what they’re all about.

But Dean’s hand was still warm on Castiel’s arm. And Dean was still looking at Castiel through hooded lashes, and then lower, darting to his lips.

God - could he maybe have this?

Castiel took a chance and parted his arms and Dean fell into them, easy as anything. Dean’s hands always had this way of starfishing across his back, clinging tighter. Then Dean changed the angle of his head and hot breath ghosted across Cas’s neck.

Cas fought the urge to shudder. He cleared his throat. “You know it’s foolish to pretend we aren’t going to continue to act irrationally when it comes to each other, right?”

“A man can dream Cas - a man can dream.”

He did it quickly before he had a moment to second guess the impulse - a soft kiss, more in Dean’s hair than on his actual skin. Letting out just enough affection to stop again, like an overfilled balloon releasing a small burst of air. Dean had a sharp intake of breath but didn’t pull away, and they held on a moment longer. He could feel Dean’s heart speed up.

“We just gonna keep dancing around this, Cas?” Dean mumbled against his neck, then pulled back. His expression was still open but there was an undercurrent of fear, indecisiveness - like a loud noise could send him flying out of the room.

“I’d prefer not to.” Castiel whispered, careful. His arms stayed around Dean’s waist and he waited for a signal. Not that he’s really sure what sort of signal he should be looking for.

Dean’s hand moved carefully to his face, and then the other, until he was framed in warmth. He remembered the few times Dean had touched him like this, mostly in concern for his well being. Now Dean had a slight pause, a switch from fear to something more solid. He licked his lips and set them tight against his face.

“I don’t know how to do this.” He finally said, green eyes darting across Castiel’s face, mostly focused on his lips. Castiel huffed a laugh, and Dean almost looked insulted.

“I believe it’s something like this.”

Castiel prayed feverishly to - well he wasn’t sure who he was praying to. Certainly his father was in the wind, and truthfully, he didn’t want anyone else in heaven to know what was about to take place. So maybe the prayer was to himself, some sort of resolve.  _ Please - please be what he wants. _

He closed the distance between them quickly, and his lips landed softly on Dean’s.

They didn’t move for the space of a breath (Dean’s of course, because Castiel had forgotten to breathe) and then they did. Together and all at once. Gentle, tender kisses, his face still framed by Dean’s hands, and his own hands tightly at Dean’s waist. Then he remembered to breathe and inhaled Dean, all warm skin and engine grease and too many cups of coffee. Dean’s mouth was his to claim and the longer they kissed, the deeper he dove in. He’d never kissed with tongue before, but as Dean’s reached the inside of his mouth, licking and teasing and wet, he’d wondered how he’d gone so long without it.

And the sounds, little grunts and sighs when their lips untangled for a moment before they dove back in. It was a damn symphony. He didn’t know it could be like this. That he could feel safe and important and loved in one single action.

Dean pulled away and pressed his forehead against Castiel’s. His eyes tore him apart but in a different way than earlier - no guilt, but no walls either. Cas was bare to Dean, and vice versa. He loved it.

“That was - a long time coming,” he whispered, not sure what to say. How he could possibly put to words the fireworks exploding inside of him right now.

“What - you done?” Dean smirked, huffing out a breath. This close his freckles were near overwhelming. That's okay - drowning in them seemed like a good way to go.

“Never.”

* * *

 

 

Later that night they finally left Castiel’s room to find Sam and make things right between the three of them. There was a war coming - Cas was certain. And there would be no end to the horrors he’d try to shelter the brothers from in the coming months. Maybe that was just the old soldier in him refusing to back down. But he didn’t fight out of allegiance or blind loyalty any longer. Now he fought for his family. And that thought rested comfortably in his chest. That’s truly what he was brought back to do. 

**Author's Note:**

> I am but a fledgling writer who survives off comments.


End file.
